


Don't Stop

by FrozenMemories



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dark fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenMemories/pseuds/FrozenMemories
Summary: Tumblr fic prompt: Mackson fic starting with "Don't stop."Just a stolen moment in the bunker
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Don't Stop

“Don’t stop.”

Jackson’s moan echoes off the concrete walls around them as Miller expertly digs his fingers into the junction of his neck and shoulders, causing Jackson’s head to loll forward.

“Rough day, huh?”

He doesn’t need Jackson to nod, he could tell by his defeated look and his tired eyes. The lack of proper nutrition combined with restless nights and the dire circumstances of their underground lives are grinding him down more and more.

“Name something that isn’t rough down here,” Jackson mutters mirthlessly.

Miller hums thoughtfully as he slides one hand around Jackson’s neck, out to cup his chin and tilt his head back.

“The touch of my hands?” He suggests, emphasizing his words with a gentle swipe of his thumb across Jackson’s lips, before adding with a smirk, “Unless you want it to be.”

To his relief a small chuckle bubbles up in Jackson’s throat, vibrating beneath his fingers.

“Uh-huh,” he wordlessly agrees, “I believe I told you not to stop.”

The smile that’s ghosting across his face is faint but playful. Miller lays his hand against the back of Jackson’s head to tip it forward again, then quickly helps him shrug his jacket off his shoulders. He stuffs the bunched up fabric between himself and the wall before he leans back and resumes his massaging motions. It doesn’t take long for the tense muscles to relax under his touch.

“Can we stay here forever?”

Jackson groans low under his breath in a mixture of pain and relief.

It's a serious thing to consider, Miller muses, when it's just them, alone in the secluded engine room they’ve claimed their own private retreat. There are a countless number of things wrong in this place, but right now they’re at peace with themselves.

“Sounds nice but I’d rather do this on a beach somewhere,” Miller lets himself indulge in one of his fantasies again – it’s all they have to hold on to – and presses his thumb into a particularly tight knot, “Sand beneath our feet and sunshine on our skin…”

Jackson sighs and leans into Miller’s kneading fingers.

“But we can keep this going for a while.”

As Miller continues to work through the kinks in Jackson’s neck they both grow still, each lost in thoughts and dreams of places they’d rather be in.

“We could build a cabin,” Jackson muses into the comfortable silence, his suggestion creating vivid images in Miller’s mind.

“With a front porch and a hammock,” he adds to the idea.

“I’d love that,” Jackson sighs dreamily and then lets out a soft moan as Miller’s hands rake through his hair and gently massage at his scalp.

Back and forth they elaborate on their imagined future, adding campfires and twist bread as their stomachs growl and Miller’s hands work their way down the length of Jackson’s spine.

Every now and then he presses firm kisses into the crook of Jackson’s neck until Jackson leans back and twists his head to steal one for his lips.

They smile against each other, momentarily far away from the cold grey around them.

Miller’s left hand is still digging into Jackson’s sore muscles when Jackson pulls back to nuzzle the skin below Miller’s jaw.

“I’m good, baby,” he mumbles, shrugging his shoulder out of the firm grasp. He turns until he kneels in front of Miller, knees shoved beneath Miller’s bent legs, “Your turn now.”

He lightly rests his hand on Miller’s chest, the touch itself not very alluding, but his voice full of suggestion.

Miller smiles softly.

“You don’t have to, I know you’re tired.”

Jackson answers with a slow kiss that leaves them both short of breath and lets his hand slide down Miller’s front.

“Are you complaining?”

Miller gasps when Jackson slips his hand inside his pants without prelude or warning.

“Uh, no. No way,” he mutters as a grin forms on his face, “Don’t stop.”


End file.
